


If You Would Like

by Al_Blue



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Consent, Episode Related, Episode: s03e02 Primavera, Episode: s03e03 Secondo, Episode: s03e04 Aperitivo, Episode: s03e06 Dolce, Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Fix-It, M/M, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Sexual Tension, Spoilers, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-04 13:13:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4138875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Al_Blue/pseuds/Al_Blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Episode related missing scenes. Contains spoilers. No explicit description of blood/gore/cannibalism.</p><p>Episode S03E02 Primavera: Takes place during and after the last scene. Hannibal shows his face and they have make up sex.<br/>Episode S03E03 Secondo: Will meets Mischa at the Lecter castle.<br/>Episode S03E04 Aperitivo: Hannibal sends Will sad polaroid photo postcards.<br/>Episode S03E06 Dolce: Takes place in Sogliato's apartment before the soup scene. Hannibal tends to Will's wound and they have sex.<br/>Episode S03E13 The Wrath of the Lamb: Fix-it. Takes place after the last scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Episode S03E02 Primavera

**Author's Note:**

> The author does not own anything, and wrote this as self therapy.
> 
> The wonderful dubedihudde translated this to Russian [ here ](https://ficbook.net/readfic/3365499).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place during and after the last scene. Hannibal shows his face and they have make up sex.

He chases him a good way around the world and into a catacomb.

For what, Will doesn’t know.

Or doesn’t want to know. He has already once denied what was freely offered, what right does he have to come chasing for it again?

‘Hannibal.’ He calls out again, and listens to the man’s name reverberates in the damp interior of the stone basement.

He is here, Will knows.

What would it be like if Will died in here? Part of him wants to, to give him his life, his mind, his soul and his body because he denied Hannibal his offer, not as repentance, but as an exchange.

His heart races, but not out of fear.

He is here, somewhere, waiting.

‘I - ’ miss, need… ‘forgive you.’

He is here.

Behind him.

Will turns but is prevented to by a solid body behind his. He gasps and leans his head back just enough, waiting for a familiar hand to grasp his neck.

Maybe this will be his last breath.

Maybe Hannibal will use the same linoleum knife again. Or maybe the same knife was lost, the last time they saw each other, all those months ago, in Baltimore.

Maybe…

‘I missed you, Will.’

His nose pinches and burns and his eyes well up with tears.

Will lets those tears fall, let them fall and break onto the cold stones beneath their feet, echoing after Hannibal’s words.

‘I –’ Will turns in the arms encircling him to take in the image of the man he thought about for the last eight months.

Hannibal looks the same, same lines about his eyes, same sharp cheekbones. Maybe he is a bit thinner, but maybe it’s the chilling darkness of the catacombs.

Hannibal brings up a hand to his face, again, like he did the last time when they stood in each other’s personal spaces.

Will leans into the touch, again. Unable to pull away, from the heat of the palm, from the smoothness of the fingers caressing away the traces of tears on Will’s face, from the fog of Hannibal’s longing for him.

‘I’m –’ Will tries again instinctively, hurrying to apologize. But his words were silenced as Hannibal pushes him back against an icy pillar, and kisses him.

Will arches into Hannibal’s body heat and lets himself be warmed.

His mind floats and he takes in the scent, and the power that kills that resides within the body against his.

A hand pushes up his shirt, and Will shutters as the cold damp air crawls over his exposed skin.

Fingers trace over the scar, still tender after all these months, and then press into it. Agony and ecstasy rush over him and Will sobs against Hannibal’s tongue and lips.

‘Shh…’ Hannibal pulls away and whispers. In the silence between the pillars, his voice surrounds Will, and he gasps wordlessly.

He’s aroused, painfully so, which he realizes when Hannibal’s hand travels down and over the front of his trousers.

Before Will can fully comprehend his desire, Hannibal is tearing at his clothes.

Jacket gone from his shoulders, buttons on his shirt fly off and clinks as they sprinkled onto the stone floor, Will’s soft cotton undershirt gets all but ripped in two before it lands somewhere near his shirt and jacket.

Hannibal’s teeth knock onto his, and his tongue licks into Will’s mouth, as his hands run over his torso again, ‘Will, Will – ’

His nails drags over Will’s scar again and Will cries out, his knees buckles and Hannibal pushes his trousers down.

Hannibal kicks at Will’s jacket and shirt to spread them out onto the stone ground and pushes Will down onto them.

‘I would like to take you, Will.’ Hannibal kisses him again, lingeringly, ‘Would you like that?’

‘Yes. Yes.’ Will breathes and spreads out his legs to wrap around the other man, still fully clothed in his leather motorbike jacket and trousers.

‘Good.’ Hannibal says, and pushes two fingers into Will’s mouth, ‘Lick.’

Will does, groaning around the thick fingers.

Too soon, Hannibal pulls them out and shifts to better hover over Will’s naked body. He nudges one of Will’s legs to wrap around his waist and pushes a finger into him.

‘Hannibal, Hannibal - ’ Will chants, glassy eyed.

‘Yes, my dear Will.’ Hannibal prompts; his fingers prepare Will hurriedly but gently. He pulls out momentarily to tug at Will’s cock, making him moan and pre-come oozes out.

Will gasps and fucks into Hannibal’s hand.

He wants to tell him that he missed him, too. He wants to tell him that he liked the valentine that only Hannibal could make.

He wants to tell him that it was over the top, but it made him laugh.

‘Kiss me, please.’ Will begs, and Hannibal does.

He pushes his fingers back into Will again, and out, and back again rougher.

‘Are you ready, sweet Will?’ Hannibal asks between kisses; his hand begins to fuck into Will erratically, making them both tremble.

‘Yes, yes, please. Hannibal – please.’

As Hannibal pushes into him, as his hard leather clad body rocks against Will’s, in a moment of absurd clarity, Will wonders about his sexuality.

Has he ever been so turned on by a man? Or is it murderers who float his proverbial boat? Or maybe it’s the anticipation of dying and being wholly consumed?

Hannibal fucks like he cooks, precise, practiced and perfect.

Will cries, and laughs through his tears.

He comes suddenly and in perfect surprise. Grabbing for Hannibal's hands and arching up to lick at his lips, desperate for more contact than Hannibal gives.

***

‘Why didn’t you kill me?’ Will shivers as they lie on the silent stone floor of the catacombs. Hannibal obligingly wraps his arms around him and runs his hand up and down Will’s arm in an attempt to warm it.

It works exceedingly well.

‘You know why.’

Will turns and catches Hannibal’s eyes that are trained on him.

By habit, he wants to look away, or maybe shift to look at a strand of hair on Hannibal’s face, but he doesn’t. In a moment, Will lets the fear wash over him and make him almost uncomfortably warm.

‘Maybe one day then.’ Will whispers.

Hannibal’s hand stills, and then pulls him even closer so their lips are nearly touching.

‘If you would like.’ He promises.


	2. Episode S03E03 Secondo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will meets Mischa at the Lecter castle.

‘I've never known myself,’ Will says, allowing a familiar quiet surround him, a quiet he has come to associate with Hannibal’s presence. ‘…as well as I know myself when I'm with him.’

‘That’s very romantic, Will.’

Hannibal walks in.

He’s dressed the same as earlier on the grounds, tailored rich brown suit with a crisp blue dress shirt, when he and Will sat in the same chairs as the ones in Hannibal's office in Baltimore.

Will looks sharply to Chiyo, whose eyes are trained on her teacup, ‘You won’t find Hannibal here. There are places on these grounds that he cannot safely go.’

Taking in Will’s wide eyes, Hannibal smiles, eyes soft and amused.

He kneels down onto the cushion beside Chiyo, and turns to regard her as if to say hello, before turning his gaze back to Will, ‘You look like you are wondering why I’m here.’

Suddenly the table separating them felt like a river, deep, dark, ever changing and leaving no way to survive to the other side. Will wants to ask whether it was this Hannibal who kissed him just the night before, in the catacombs.

‘My name is Mischa.’

In a heartbeat, sitting where Hannibal was, sits instead a young blonde girl, no more than seven or eight years old.

As suddenly as she appeared, she's gone.

And Hannibal sits where he did.

As if nothing had happened.

Will snatches up his tea and downs the content, wishing he tasted the burn of whiskey.

‘What do these grounds hold for you?’ He asks.

Hannibal, or Mischa looking like Hannibal, simply smiles and looks to Chiyo as she answers Will's question.

Maybe, Will thinks, encephalitis is a recurring disease.

***

‘You should set him free.’

Will starts, and looks wildly to his side, and finds Hannibal, or Mischa, sitting nonchalantly in the passenger seat of his car.

He takes a trembling deep breath, and wishes that he had brought painkillers.

‘Who?’

‘The man in the cage.’

Will glances at the digital clock on the dashboard.

It’s 10:43pm.

He slows the car to a stop, and concentrates on his breathing.

‘Didn’t he have it coming?’ Will asks, ‘I thought he killed you and ate you.’

Mischa chuckles, ‘I’ve forgiven him.’

It’s not that Will hasn’t thought about it himself.

Release his captive.

So he’ll run, and die from hypothermia or hunger. Or maybe he’ll run, to avenge for the life he lost being caged up like an animal.

Or maybe, he’ll stay, and kill the ground-keeper.

Will remembers the way Mischa looked at Chiyo earlier, and thinks, again, that the wrong thing which is the right thing to do is too ugly a thought.

‘He hasn’t forgiven you.’ Will breathes.

By making her keep vigil, Hannibal has already made sure that Chiyo will die or live with blood on her hands. Does Mischa not know she’s playing into his hands? Or maybe, that’s what she wanted, too.

Mischa reaches out, and Will watches silently as she pries his hand off the steering wheel with Hannibal's hand. His heart races as Hannibal’s eyes hold his gaze, bringing his hand up to the familiar face, and kisses his knuckles.

‘Chiyo used to see me.’ Mischa whispers, ‘When we were young. It used to upset her greatly, because she saw me as how I looked when I was buried. You see – well, my flesh was quite exposed at that time. Can you picture it?’

‘What?’ Images of a mutilated body of the young blonde girl flashes through Will’s mind, as crystal clear as he can feel Hannibal’s breaths on his naked fingers.

Will desperately tries to yank his hand away.

But Mischa holds on, fingers digging painfully into Will’s. She shifts closer and presses Will’s hand onto her chest. The feel of Hannibal’s suit makes him feel a rush of heat through his body. Even though beneath the soft thick material, there is no heartbeat to be felt.

‘You cannot change his life, Will. But she doesn’t deserve to suffer for it.’

Will presses his back completely against the door of the car, there is no more room to back away, ‘You – you want me to _manipulate_ her to kill him.’

Hannibal’s eyes bore into his, ‘What would you do if you were me?’

Then as suddenly as Mischa appeared in his car, she’s gone again. Leaving Will to the sound of his own ragged breaths.

It’s 10:49pm.

***

Leaving the cellar, Will breathes in the cold damp air, and wonders what Hannibal’s approval means to him, in this place, somewhere he will never come back to.

From the top of the stairs, he sees Mischa in her Hannibal suit, leaning against the moss-covered wall, with her hands in her pockets, gazing quietly at Chiyo’s shadow below.

‘Why?’ Will asks.

‘My brother,’ She speaks slowly, turning to look into Will’s eyes, ‘has never known…that to love something is to set it free.’

How unlike they are, yet how similar, with the same face, the same pressed suits, and the same timber of voice.

‘What about you?’

‘I am not haunted by this house.’ Mischa raises an eyebrow, ‘Unlike him.’

She holds Will’s gaze for a moment longer and pushes herself off the wall, to walk up the few steps separating them, and lifts up a hand to touch his face.

Will takes a sharp breath in and shivers.

How intimately strange it is that Will’s skin remembers the same lines on the same palm. That even knowing the presence standing in front of him is not the same person does not lessen the power he has.

‘Do you love him?’ She asks.

Will laughs, not sure whether he finds the notion hilarious, or that laughter is just the sound of spasms that his heart and lungs make nowadays.

‘I don’t think -’ Will clears his throat and looks away from Mischa’s quiet curiosity, ‘That I can let him go…just yet.’

She smiles a slow smile, and leans forward to press a kiss to Will’s forehead, ‘Don’t be fooled into thinking that he has let you go either.’


	3. Episode S03E04 Aperitivo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal sends Will sad polaroid photo postcards.

The first postcard came when he was still in the hospital, a black and white Polaroid photo of the Pont Neuf in Paris.

 _Wish you were here._ It read.

When Will touched the image, he felt a constriction from the inside, from his lungs and his heart. He wondered whether Hannibal missed their conversations, whether he kept leaving his Thursday evenings free, just in case.

Will doesn’t rip up the photo. He tucked it into a copy of the John Grisham novel he pretended to read and imagined the photo burning from within the pages. How painful it would be if the flames leapt up and engulfed him too.

***

The second photo came five weeks later to his house. It was another Polaroid, this time of the statue of the Ecstasy of Saint Teresa. In the back, slim lines of handwriting in black ink.

Will leaned against the wall and forced himself to breathe, and touched the words with listless fingers.

_Do you remember the night you brought the man you wished to kill to my old house? I can still recall your eyes and your fevered breaths._

_The image you made, dear Will, reminded me of something else beautiful I looked upon in my youth. Did you thrill in your ecstasy as the lovely Teresa does in hers?_

Heartbeat thundered in Will’s ears.

He could feel Hannibal’s phantom fingers on him, over his clothes and on his bare hands, taking away the gun he was just holding on to, then on his neck and his forehead. Each touch impressed itself on Will’s inflamed senses.

He wished for Hannibal to release him from the suffocating clothes that trapped him, and press him down against the cool wooden dining table, and –

No.

Something soft bumped into Will’s leg and he jerked his gaze down, and found Winston looking up at him.

“I’m fine.” Will let out a long shaky breath and reached down to scratch the soft fur behind Winston’s ear.

That night, he dreamt of the statue in Hannibal’s photo.

St. Teresa lay nude on the pedestal with meticulous cursive letters draped about her body. Two tendrils caressed her wrists and wrapped themselves around them. She gasped, and they tightened their hold. The inky ropes wrapped around her even tighter until she groaned in pain, and began to lift her limp body up towards the ceiling.

Her whole body spasmed, as the tendrils pulled harder and faster, and then with a deafening scream, she was being ripped through the ceiling.

Will woke with a start and grabbed for the postcard.

It had no postage or postmarks.

***

The third one came with a package, again with no sign of how it was delivered to Will’s doorsteps. The only person who visited him this week had been Jack. Surely, it was impossible that Hannibal somehow manipulated Jack into secretly delivering his packages.

Will takes it inside and the dogs all came around and gathered around his feet; Will wondered absurdly whether Hannibal sent him dog treats, or more likely, a victim’s severed body parts.

He took the box to the bathroom sink, herded the dogs out and closed the door so he can open it alone.

Thankfully, there was no putrid or otherwise prepared flesh. Instead, nestled in the foam peanuts was a small black box.

“Egoiste pour hommes, Chanel”, it read. With another Polaroid postcard tucked beside it. The photo was that of a skeleton set in mosaic stone.

_I realized, belatedly, that I never properly thanked you for no longer wearing the aftershave you were quite fond of from a year ago._

_I met someone who wore this and instantly thought of you. It is similar enough to that aftershave, but infinitely more pleasant._

_The best way to wear this is one or two sprays to clean skin._ _Put it on in the morning or, perhaps, wear it at night before you sleep._ _I imagine your body heat will warm the perfume and open it up nicely.  
_

In the box was a small clear bottle with a buttery smooth black cap.

Egoiste.

Does it not mean selfish? Will wondered. Hannibal must saw the irony of sending this to him.

For reasons Will didn’t think about, he put down the box and stripped down to shower.

His heart raced at the thought of wearing the cologne to bed. It was early in the evening, but the dogs are fed, and his boat motor can wait for another day.

A single spray to his chest, and one to his wrist.

Will breathed in the soft scent of something floral and smoky, and stepped out of the bathroom in a puff of steam.

The dogs greeted him with wagging tails.

“It’s okay.” He petted them each on the head and ushered them to the living room.

Alone, his skin felt sensitive against the sheets as he slid into bed. It is not often that he slept nude. Yet here he was, not sparing a thought about why he allowed Hannibal to mark him with his scent.

His selfish scent and nothing else.

He imagined that Hannibal would slid into bed with him, and imagined him breathing him in.

You smell exquisite, he would say.

Will took a deep breath and drew the cover tight over himself.

He dreamt of his conversation with Hannibal before, before he left, an evening when they stood together in front of his fireplace and burned pages that should not see the light of day.

“The foyer is of Norman Chapel in Palermo.” Hannibal said, his eyes soft and welcoming, and Will’s fingers prickled with a want to reach out and touch, “With a single reminder of mortality. A skull. Graven in the floor.”

Will opened his eyes, and saw the three postcards beside the alarm clock. In the moon light they shone, and beckoned him.

They are the trail.

Of where he had been, of his past, and of where he'll go.


	4. Episode S03E06 Dolce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place in Sogliato's apartment before the soup scene. Hannibal tends to Will's wound and they have sex.

Hannibal has stopped the bleeding and is finishing up the last stitch of the suture when Will's eyes focus again. His breathing is even and quiet as he watches Hannibal work beside him. Last stitch, knot, and snips off the end.

"I missed you." Will whispers.

Putting away the suture needle and sheers, Hannibal picks up a damp towel, and turns back to quietly wipe down Will's face and neck, watching Will watching him. "I know."

Unable to move because the anaesthetics Hannibal given him has paralysed most of his peripheral nerves, Will finds himself irrationally calm, sitting intimately close in Hannibal’s personal space.

Hannibal tilts his face this way and that gently, and seems satisfied that Will is suitably cleaned. He puts away the towel on the side table and picks up the clothing sheers again, and gestures at Will's tattered shirt and jacket, "I’m going to cut these off. There are fresh clothes for you to wear for dinner later."

"Where did you get clothes for me?" Will murmurs, lips relaxing into a smile as he watches Hannibal cut open the left side of his shirtsleeve.

"I had a tailor make you a few sets of clothes, and had them sent to the apartment facing the Palazzo Vecchio and the Duomo before – ” Hannibal stills his hands and looks up, _before I realized you would not be joining me_ , he wants to say, but, some memory are too painful to voice out loud, “before I left Baltimore.”

Will’s half lidded eyes do not leave Hannibal’s face as his lips part in a breath, in understanding. Hannibal leans closer to him and reaches out to rub at a small speck of blood on Will's cheek that he missed.

"Say no if you do not want this." He whispers and leans in until their lips almost touched.

Will remains quiet; his gaze dart to Hannibal’s lips unconsciously and he swallows.

Hannibal leans in the rest of the way and into the perfect curl of Will's lips with more longing than he expected. Even under the anaesthetics, Will responds, opening his mouth and letting Hannibal lick into him.

Some minutes later, Hannibal pulls back to comb his fingers through Will’s hair, damp with sweat and from the wet towel he used to clean the blood. Will smells of blood, and of Bedelia and of Jack.

Even though he has expected Will to meet up with them at some point, Hannibal cannot suppress an anger at their lingering scents on him. So he pushes at Will's ripped shirt and jacket, wanting to rid him of other people’s scents trapped in his clothes.

"No." Will gasps.

Hannibal stops, and searches Will’s eyes, "Are you hurt elsewhere?"

He runs his hands down Will's arms and torso clinically, feeling for another injury. His fingers brush against the edge of something like folded paper in Will's lapel pocket. He looks up and catches Will's wide eyes when he sees where Hannibal's hand is.

Reaching in, he pulls out a small stack of three photos. His postcards. They are warm with Will’s body heat, and their corners are worn and dog-eared from being kept in the lining pocket of a jacket.

Hannibal turns them over in his hands.

 _I miss you._ The first one had tried to say.

 _I'm thinking of you._ The second one added.

The third one still smells of the perfume he sent with it. _I'm here and I’m still waiting for you._

"You still have -" Hannibal tries, at a loss for words.

It’s not that he imagined Will had stumbled upon the Norman Chapel by accident. But seeing his photos, the postcards he sent without knowing whether Will was still alive, or still spared him any thought reminded Hannibal of his own reflections on this journey. On the run from one he loves, yet wishing at every moment that his beloved would come chasing after him. And here he is, in Italy, like Hannibal had wished.

"You saw these. And you came to find me." Hannibal whispers. He can hear his own heart thundering, as if it is trying to pound open his chest.

“Hannibal.” Will murmurs, his gaze holds Hannibal’s, unshed tears sparkles in the soft lamp light.

He crushes his mouth to Will's and was rewarded with open lips, "You understood what I -" He tries to say between kisses, tasting salt from tears but isn't certain whether they from Will or himself.

He tears Will’s ruined shirt and jacket off and drops them on the floor, and pushes him to lie down on the couch. He props himself up over Will, and slots one of his thighs between Will’s legs, making him moan and shiver. He lays the postcards on Will and puts one of his lax hands over the photos, and covers Will’s hand with his own.

Reverently, Hannibal leans down again to catch the sound of his own name on Will’s quicken breaths, and rocks his thigh between Will’s legs when he feels his arousal. He brushes his lips over Will’s cheeks, eye lids and forehead, mapping the topography and texture of his skin, licking up the tears, committing this moment to his memory forever, hoarding each sensory detail with a dark jealousy.

For not the first time today, Hannibal feels regret, he regrets not having the luxury of time to keep Will like this, to make love to him properly. But Will has been to see Bedelia with Jack, and so Jack would not be far behind.

And he absolutely cannot leave Will as he is now for Jack to see.

“I will take care of you, my darling Will.” Dropping another kiss to Will’s pliant lips, Hannibal rises to unbuckle Will’s trousers. He pushes off his loafers, then the trousers and boxers and looks, Will, naked, beautifully aroused and laid out open. Will’s penis is smooth and flushed, with pre-cum beading at the top threatening to leak out.

“Hannibal – ” Will gasps torturously as he cannot move to touch himself, “please – please.”

Hannibal rarely found much pleasure and amusement in most sexual acts, but seeing Will coming apart under him makes him dizzy with the heat of arousal himself. He kneels down and takes a hold of Will’s leaking penis and squeezes.

“Hannibal – ah.” Will cries hoarsely, “Hannibal please – I need –”

Hannibal leans over Will and takes him fully into his mouth, rubbing Will’s engorged testicles with his hand. Will’s penis is heavy on his tongue, and tastes wonderfully of him and nothing and no one else. Hannibal closes his eyes and hollows out his cheeks to suck his way up until only the tip is on his tongue.

Will hyperventilates underneath him, his body trembles and spasms with every lick and stroke of Hannibal’s mouth on him.

“I – I can’t – Hannibal, I – I need –”Will chokes on his own breaths and begs, “Kiss me, please.”

Letting his teeth craze Will’s tender flesh, Hannibal sucks in one last breath and lets Will’s penis drop out of his mouth. He brushes his lips over the tip one last time before moving to settle onto the couch and over Will. “Of course.” Hannibal whispers and licks his way into Will’s mouth.

Will moans desperately and licks at Hannibal’s tongue, dizzyingly tasting himself and Hannibal’s mouth.

Hannibal reaches a hand down between them to unzip his own trousers. Taking out his own strained penis as he shifts to align it with Will’s and rocks into his body, letting their arousals slide wetly against each other before grasping both of them in his hand, and strokes them both hard enough to make Will cry out in pain.

Will comes first, his whole body shaking uncontrollably, crying out Hannibal’s name and biting weakly at his lips. The fevered scent of Will’s release pushes Hannibal over the edge and he climaxes, seeing blind stars behind his eyelids.

***

They lie tangled together afterwards. Hannibal watches as Will’s eyes flutter shut and his breaths even out. He drops a kiss to Will’s brow and shifts to untangle, he needs to clean and dress them both before Jack arrives. Hannibal estimates that there are maybe 10, 15 minutes before he does. “Rest.” He whispers.

Will’s eyes snap open and catches his, “Stay.” He says, “Please.”

Hannibal stares into Will’s eyes, and finds himself unable to move. It’s as if Will has control of his mind, so his body refuses to obey any other commend.

“Five minutes.” Hannibal relents, lying down again and lets himself be lulled by Will’s breaths and warm scent, and tries to let go of the anger for not having the time to savour the moment and the man in his arms for longer than the five minutes he can afford to spare.


	5. Episode S03E13 The Wrath of the Lamb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after the last scene. Fix-It.

It’s always a peculiar moment when one wakes up to consciousness. Like a scene cut in a TV show, one moment he is drowning in the ocean, and the next, crisp air is rushing to fill his lungs.

Will licks his lips, chasing a taste of the lingering darkness as oxygen reanimates his body. Pain shoots in from every direction, and a hand closes around his throat.

“Hannibal –”

“Shh –” The hand moves to cradle his face, and he tastes blood and air, and Hannibal’s lips.

Tears prickle at his eyes as Will touches Hannibal’s shoulders blindly, fingers aching with memories.

Will grabs at him when he pulls away too quickly. But Hannibal catches his hand, and licks up his fingers, still sticky with the dragon's blood and some of his own.

Will moans helplessly and cracks open his eyes to meet Hannibal's.

“We need to move soon.” Hannibal slows his licks to press a kiss to Will's wrist, and gestures up the cliff with a tilt of his head.

The cliff-side is lit up by a cacophony of red and blue strobe lights.

Will struggles to look further, “Can they –”

“No, the cliff is eroded from the bottom up. But they will send people down in the morning to check.” Hannibal signs, and leans down to scrutinize the knife wound on Will’s face, “All the bleeding seems to have stopped. But we will need to dress these properly as soon as possible.”

Will traces his gaze over the outline of Hannibal under the glimmering moonlight. He looks no different from the last time they saw each other at his old house. His hair is a bit shorter, and has a bit more grey laced within, maybe.

“How long was I out?”

“No more than two minutes.”

“I suppose we made their job easy with the cop cars.” Will wiggles his toes, and winces as pain shoots up his leg. At least he can still feel them.

Hannibal frowns and moves to fuss with the cloth makeshift bandage tied around Will’s thigh. “Jack is a very fine policeman.”

Will chuckles and coughs in regret.

Satisfied that no more blood seem to be seeping through the bandage, Hannibal pats his knee gently.

“Are you hurt?” Regaining his breath, Will nods at the near-black patch on Hannibal’s sweater.

“Red wine.” Hannibal pulls at the article of clothing so it no longer sticks to his body. “The dragon is a crap shot.”

“Ouch –” Will’s chest spasms in pain as laughter bubbles from deep within his belly, “don’t make me laugh.”

“I’m sorry.” Hannibal smiles.

He leans back over Will and presses a kiss on his forehead. “Do you think you can stand? There is a way out into the woods behind the house from here. I keep a cabin there.”

***

“What are you going to do now?” Will lies still, and watches in a haze as Hannibal stitches up his leg wound.

“I’ve arranged a way to Argentina when Alana informed me of your plan.” Hannibal pauses before continuing on to the next suture, “For the both of us.”

Hannibal works with a practiced speed that Will remembers. And before he can count the number of stitches, Hannibal knots and snips off the end of the thread. The warmth of Hannibal’s gloved hands on his skin feels more familiar than he can admit.

“I’ll need to say goodbye to Molly.”

Hannibal puts down the forceps and peels off his gloves, slowly and not meeting Will’s eyes. “Will you join me after?”

It’s surprising, that after so many lies, betrayals, and blood shed, how much Hannibal still…wishes for Will to be around; and how much Will wants to be where Hannibal wants him.

Three years ago, they sat like this at his old house, and he told Hannibal to leave.

Suddenly, the memory of that last time was too strong to bear, and Will aches with how much he missed the other man. He sits up, breathing through the soreness, and reaches out. Hannibal, understanding what Will wanted, gets up to sit on the bed, to meet him half way in a loose embrace, letting Will lean heavily on his chest.

Hannibal smells of antiseptics and blood.

It’s oddly comforting.

“I – have changed, and became something different, because of you. I won’t be able to change back.” Will whispers, “And I won’t want to.”

Hannibal hooks his fingers under Will’s chin, and tilts up his face. “Not even for your wife?” He challenges.

“Did you, for yours?”

“I did.”

Will surges up and crashes his lips to Hannibal’s, licking his way into his mouth and bites at his lips with teeth.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, please ask if you have questions.


End file.
